


foolish things

by 1001cranes



Series: A Matter of Chance [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Regency, Ballroom Dancing, M/M, Regency
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2018-02-12 05:57:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2098230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1001cranes/pseuds/1001cranes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stilinski didn’t look particularly interesting at first glance, if Peter was being honest. He was pleasing to look at, certainly, with a plush mouth that god so rarely saw fit to bestow upon men, but he was in dire need of a haircut, and his face had the slightly undercooked softness of a man not long out of school. Hardly the archetypal rake that would normally lead to such hushed voices.</p>
            </blockquote>





	foolish things

**Author's Note:**

> Occurs before 'fierce impatient ends'

Peter surveyed the ballroom with a critical eye. It was a small party, insomuch as the Lady Martin’s parties ever were such, and all of Peter’s preferred companions were away in London. He doubted there would be much to amuse him, but Talia had commanded his presence, and so here he was. 

Generally speaking, Peter had nothing against parties. He even found himself increasingly in the mood to marauder in the days leading up to the full moon. However, as the Lady Martin had a daughter of marriageable age and good prospects, her parties were often filled with giggling young ladies, their equally irritating beaus, and stern, overprotective mamas. There was very little chance for mischief, and very few people Peter was inclined to make it with.

"The tavern will still be there tomorrow," Talia had told him, and bade him to keep an eye on Laura. "Or, God forbid, later tonight. The party will not."

Peter suspected Talia wanted grandchildren, a whole house full of them, and as Cora was a touch too young to provide and Derek still in mourning clothes, Laura was now the sole target of his dear sister's machinations. It was likely Laura would disappear into a corner with a few like-minded bluestockings and Peter would not see her until it was time to leave, but Talia’s orders would have been obeyed to the letter, and that made everything at home quite easier.

After taking a turn around the room, Peter decided to pin himself to the wall and see if anyone of interest would appear. The later a person arrived, the more interesting they were, generally speaking. Everyone dull as dishwater always arrived right on time.

Having a superior enough sense of hearing to keep tabs on most of the room did, of course, make the time pass much more quickly.

| |

After jumping among entirely too many conversations about the weather, the decor, the refreshments, horses, various guests’s relative skill at dancing, the latest fashions, and the newest novel, Peter was so thoroughly bored as to require another turn around the room in order to remain awake. 

" … quite surprised he even came, to be frank," Lady Whittemore said, and Peter could nearly feel his ears perk with anticipation. Granted, knowing Lady Whittemore her disdain could spring from simply being gauche enough to wear square shoulders, but it was the most interested Peter had been all evening.

Anyone with sense would consider Lady Martin and Lady Whittemore the gatekeepers of society around Beacon Hills. (Talia, though the head of Beacon Hill’s richest and most noble family, tended to eschew most social gatherings.) Lord Whittemore was a barrister of some renown, and though the money was relatively new there was more than enough of it to quell any disdain, as did Lady Whittemore’s exacting good taste. The Martin name was one of the oldest and most venerable after Hale, and Miss Lydia Martin was known to be quite a Beauty, and expected to make a match for herself in the coming Season.  

"He’s quite a favorite of my daughter’s, if you can believe," Lady Martin said, and sniffed. "She insisted he be invited, and that the whole thing was quite overblown."

"Overblown!" Lady Whittemore exclaimed. "It will be the scandal of the county, I would imagine," and Lady Martin made noises of agreement.

They fanned themselves slowly for a moment and watched the dance floor, where both their children were no doubt whirling about, before Lady Martin leaned in closer, in confidence.  

“I suppose little else could have been expected. It was before your time here, of course…” she added airily, no doubt a subtle dig at the Lady Whittemore’s origins. For all the frivolity associated with society and its endless balls and fetes, the Lady Martin certainly did rule with an iron hand; a skill Peter could appreciate. “… but he was left to grow up rather wild after the Countess died. They say Lord Sheriff spent the next few years on the mop.”

Lady Whittemore’s lips turned down into what was, ostensibly, a frown, but her eyes were as bright as a magpie’s. “A terrible tragedy.”

"She was a Hapsburg, you know, distantly," Lady Martin continued. "Didn’t have the jaw, but apparently she went quite mad before the end."

"Bad blood," Lady Whittemore agreed, apparently without a hint of irony, and after a moment the conversation moved towards the upcoming Season.

| |

Well, Lord Sheriff was the Earl, of course, and the local Magistrate besides - a stolid sort of man if ever there was one, and certainly not the type to do anything improper. His friendship with Lady McCall had long been the subject of gossip, but since she hadn’t been mentioned the scandal didn’t lie there, and surely had originated with the son. Viscount Something, if Peter remembered correctly. Younger than Laura, though perhaps not Cora’s age. 

Peter had nothing against youths in general, but he rarely sought their company. He’d always found it was best to let a Season or two enliven them. The interesting ones would always make themselves known and rise to the top, whether they were ultimately cream or dead fish, and fun was had either way. 

Finding the younger Stilinski in the crush without knowing him proved to be rather tricky, but not impossible. Lydia was always easy to find, even in a crowd such as this, with her red hair standing out quite readily among the throng of golden- and raven-haired beauties surrounding her.

"Lord Whittemore," Peter nodded, and swept in once the conversation had lulled. "Miss Martin. Your mother has once again thrown a lovely party."

"I’ll be sure to pass along your compliments, Lord Letharia," Lydia said, and looked towards the ceiling with what was just short of an eye roll. Peter and Lydia weren't friendly, for most definitions of the word, but Peter was fond of sharp minds and Lydia desired the company of those who realized she had one. It was a rather delightful sort of self-aware antagonism neither would admit to finding entertaining. "Miss Allison Argent, Viscount Roscoe, may I present you to the Marquess of Letharia?

They all took a moment to greet one another, and Peter took the chance to look over their little gathering as they all bowed and curtsied. The brunette was the Argent girl, then. She had made notable waves with her arrival - as any French transplant to the County would - not the least of which were within the walls of Hale Manor. But she was quite unattached to the rest of the Argent family, Deaton had assured them, even if her grandfather  _was_  the Duc du Portefaix - the very powerful, very wealthy  _lieutenant de louveterie_. But her face had given nothing away when Lydia had introduced them, which meant that either Deaton had been telling the truth - a rarity indeed - or she was exceedingly well-composed.

And the youth to Lydia’s right was the soon to be infamous Stilinski! He didn’t look particularly interesting at first glance, if Peter was being honest. He was pleasing to look at, certainly, with a plush mouth that god so rarely saw fit to bestow upon men, but he was in dire need of a haircut, and his face had the slightly undercooked softness of a man not long out of school. Hardly the archetypal rake that would normally lead to such hushed voices. Then again, all Hales grew up knowing how to put on a human mask, to use their appearances to cover all manner of sins; who was to say any one in this assembly room was any different?

They dithered over the weather for a few moments before turning to the local lecture series - Lydia was interested in one on the higher mathematics, the Viscount showed a flash of interest when discussing the properties of blood, and Whittemore continually looked bored - and Peter took advantage of a lull in the music to ask Stilinski to dance. 

"I believe the next dance is a quadrille," he said, and held out his hand. "Would you?”

"I -" Stilinski’s eyebrows knit together for a moment. "Uh, certainly. Of course." 

"I want to dance," Lydia added hurriedly, and slapped Whittemore lightly with her fan. "Lord Whittemore, are you going to ask, or shall I have to find a more suitable partner?" She sent an apologetic look towards Miss Argent, who merely smiled and tilted her head. She would have no shortage of company while they were gone, Peter was certain. 

Lord Whittemore dutifully took Lydia onto the dance floor, and Peter and Stilinski arranged themselves accordingly. 

The first few moments of the dance were silent - Peter could feel Lydia’s gaze upon them, as well as certain other occupants’ of the ballroom - until it seemed as though Stilinski couldn’t stand it anymore, for he burst out with, “So you’ve come to stare at me too!”

"It’s rather difficult not to look at someone you’re dancing with," Peter said archly, "But I could choose a spot just over your left shoulder, if you prefer." He made as if to crane his neck. "It looks as though Lord Jareth is flirting with Miss Sarah Williams again, although I suppose that’s nothing new."

Stilinski was silent for another moment. “You’re making fun of me,” and if they had not been in polite company, Peter was certain some sort of insult would have been tacked onto the end.

"Only a little," Peter said, and smiled. For some reason that seemed to put him in Stilinski’s good graces, for he relaxed slightly.

"Forgive me," he said. "The last few days have been… trying."

"The rumors," Peter said, letting his voice drop just a little, sympathetically. "Yes, I heard Lady Martin and Lady Whittemore gossiping earlier this evening." Not specifically enough for Peter’s tastes, but he could find out all the details later.

"I’m certain they wasted  _no_  time,” Stilinski muttered. “I’m far from the Lady Martin’s favorite. Or Lady Whittemore’s.”

"I don’t think they like anyone," Peter said. "Possibly not even their children."

Stilinski stifled a laugh, still loud enough that the other couples in their square turned to look. “If you had a son like Whittemore, would you?”

"I’ll admit I’ve yet to see a shred of personality. Certainly Miss Martin can do better."

"I’m not sure what Miss Martin is looking for," Stilinski admits. "I’m not sure she knows either."

"Perhaps London will be good for her, then," Peter suggested, and Stilinski nodded his assent. 

The later parts of the quadrille were filled with more neutral conversation - London and the coming Season, whether the Stilinskis would go to Town, whether the Hales would - and as the finale of the dance began to wrap up, Peter couldn’t help but dig just  _once_  more, as he was the dog with the proverbial bone.

"I find you’re as interesting as they say," he said.

Stilinski’s face darkened.

"...Though not for the reasons they say," Peter continued, and bowed. "Lord Roscoe."

"Lord Letharia," Stilinski parroted, with a short, slightly jerky bow, and Peter tried to hide a smile as he turned away.

Rumors were altogether nasty things - Peter had more than a passing familiarity with the spreading and tending of them, after all - and while the best ones usually had a grain of truth, for traction, it was clear the core of this one was wrong indeed. If that boy was ruined, Peter was a virgin. Perhaps it had only been the circumstances? The appearances?

He watched as Lydia hurried back towards the wall, Stilinski in tow. 

"Stiles," Peter heard Lydia say, somewhat urgently. Ah, Peter thought. Stiles, for Stilinski. Of course. "You aren’t mixed up with Lord Letharia, are you?”

"No! I swear to you, Lyds, I’d never even  _met the man_  before tonight!”

"He seems to like you," Lydia added, somewhat doubtfully. "He’s very - Well. Hard to pin down, exactly. But you should be  _careful_ , I think. Especially now.”

"I know! I’m trying to - I thought if we just pretended everything was normal, it would all blow over."

"There isn’t much else to be done," Lydia said. "Come - it’s a waltz next, I’ll let you stomp all over my feet."

"I haven’t done that in  _years_ ,” Stiles sulked, even as he whisked her back onto the dance floor, Whittemore looking slightly more put out than usual.

Interesting, Peter thought, how very, very  _interesting_ , and went to find Laura and pry her out of her corner for at least one dance. 

**Author's Note:**

> In case you were confused - and who wouldn’t be - John Stilinski the Earl of Sheriff, and his son Wawrzyniec Stilinski, the Viscount Roscoe. Portefaix is taken from Jacques Portefaix who, along with seven friends, supposedly slew the Beast of Gévaudan. Peter is the Marquess of Letharia, frankly because I’m running out of ideas. 
> 
> Doing Regency research is really fun and I get _really_ into it, but then I end up throwing half of it away because hey, dudes can marry dudes and ladies are definitely no question going to inherit and be peers in their own right and also WEREWOLVES so yeah.


End file.
